


Half Full is Still Half Empty

by decayinghorizon



Series: in the aftermath [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery, also deals with the Grundy Thing, they both fuck up a bunch but they're trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:00:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9920030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decayinghorizon/pseuds/decayinghorizon
Summary: They try again, and work on the broken parts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> finally wrote a continuation of this! I wanted to bring up Archie's issues and show them helping each other, but there's still some self-destructive behavior in this and a lot of messing up. I'm trying to make this as realistic as I can and I'll probably continue writing in this series as long as I'm motivated to and people like it. 
> 
> also, vomit is very briefly mentioned in this fic, not in any detail or really as an ED behavior, but just wanted to give warning in case it bothers anyone in this context <3

There're these divides. Between brain and heart, between thoughts and actions, between intentions and what really happens.  
There's the misconception that loving someone can fix them.  
It's never that easy.  
It's really fucking hard, actually, and it feels like Jughead knows that better than anyone. It's been a month since he broke down at Pop's, a month of trying, a month of alternating between bursts of determination and horrible, hopeless breakdowns. Jughead is so tired, but Archie's been there for him every step of the way.  
He's been there for Archie, too. 

Since Archie found out about him, other things have come crashing. Ms. Grundy is finally gone, out of Archie's life for good, thank whatever gods might be out there. But she left behind broken pieces, a boy who doesn't know what to do. A series of slow realizations and fast breakdowns and denying and accepting and screaming and crying and calming down before doing it all over again. And after the drive-in closed for good, Archie found out Jughead was homeless, and he and Fred took him in, despite Jughead’s protests that it was too much, that they didn’t have to, that he could survive on his own. He still feels like he doesn’t deserve to be there, in Archie’s house, safe and comfortable and not having to run anymore. 

So Jughead's a mess, Archie's a mess, they're a haphazard jumble of pain and hard truths and emotion that neither of them want to sort through or feel or admit to. But they do it. They let the hard parts happen. They help each other through. Jughead won't let Archie hide behind the lies he told himself, and Archie won't let Jughead make excuses to avoid dinner. It's necessary, they can't get better or heal if they don't push each other, and they know that, but it still makes for tense moments. It's still frustrating, it still makes it feel like they're hurting each other.  
Sometimes, they run out of things to say, and they just sit in strained silence.

-

Jughead glares at Archie over crossed arms and a plate of fries, and Archie just smiles softly at him, and nods encouragingly, and doesn't nag. But he won't let him leave. And Jughead feels nauseous and he doesn't want to look at these fries anymore, he ate some but not enough and he feels dizzy and like a failure but he can't make more happen. It’s just too much. He can feel panic rising up in him, tries to rise with it just so he can go outside for a second and breathe, maybe so he can run full sprint back to Archie's house and as far away from the physical representation of his problems as humanly possible, but when he goes to stand Archie gently grabs his wrist and says "Wait,"  
and Jughead's suddenly so angry about the whole situation he rips his arm away and before his brain can catch up to his mouth he's snapping, 

"You can't just touch me whenever you want, I'm not your music teacher."

Archie's face falls, and he drops his hand back into his lap and stares at it instead of looking at Jughead, and his shoulders hunch forward and suddenly he looks so much more fragile than he did a second ago. All of Jughead's anger goes cold and seeps out of him and all he's left with is disgusted self-loathing, because not only did he hurt his best friend, he did it by using his trauma against him. He feels even more nauseous than before, and even though he still wants to run, wants to get away from the mess he's made of both himself and Archie and collect his things from Archie’s house and leave for good and pretend this all never happened, he sits back down. 

He doesn't know what to say, because sorry doesn't seem good enough, so he starts eating, not looking at his plate, staring at a spot just over Archie's shoulder and trying not to think as he slowly shovels cold french fries into his mouth, fighting the sick feeling that’s getting stronger by the second. Archie looks up at him, shocked, and his whole face lights up, like he's entirely forgotten the awful comment Jughead just made, like this one thing could somehow undo his hurt entirely.

Jughead vomits when they get home, but it was worth it to see Archie happy even for a little while.

-

Sometimes Archie zones out, stares out the window of his bedroom or at the page he was trying to write lyrics on or at an abandoned pencil in the school hallway, loses all sense of time and place. In these moments, Jughead feels like Archie's lightyears away, stuck in a memory, trapped in the vortex of his own spiraling thoughts. When he tries to say Archie's name and bring him back to himself, he doesn't hear, and when he touches him, he flinches away. But he still hasn't found a better way to snap him out of it.

So he does what he has to. He grabs Archie's shoulder, and when Archie recoils like he knew he would, he wants to cry. Jughead just wishes he knew how not to hurt him, how to spare Archie even that one confused, lost second before he remembers where he is and who he's with. He wishes Grundy never picked Archie up in her stupid car over the summer, that he could've done something to stop this, that he could've at least confronted her, told her how disgusting and horrible she was. But it's too late now, she's gone, and he did nothing. He can't go back in time and protect Archie, he can't make him whole again. But he can reassure him now. 

He can say, "Hey, you're here, you're okay, you're in the hallway between fifth and sixth periods and you need to go to math class unless you want to skip, in which case I'm right there with you,"  
and Archie can look at him and nod and pull him into a hug, and Jughead can hug him back and walk him to class and make sure he's okay for another hour.  
And that has to be enough.

-

Jughead doesn't feel good. About this, any of it. About getting better, about eating again and trying to put his life back together. Somehow, everything's harder than it used to be in this way he can't describe. Even though Archie's around again, even though he's with him even more than before, even though they're closer than ever, he feels like some piece of him got irreparably broken in the process of getting back here.

Maybe it's because Archie didn't come back until Jughead stopped eating, maybe some part of him says that if he goes back to how he used to be, Archie can leave him again.  
Maybe it's not about that at all, and he just likes the self destruction now, the cold distance and the clear head he gets from starvation. It feels familiar, comforting somehow, and a part of him just wants to hold on. A bigger part wants to let go. To be okay. He just wants to go back.

He wants to go back to before everything was broken so badly it turned into a physical ache, but somehow the part of him that wants to get better is still losing. He keeps trying to build himself up and out of this pit, but the walls always crumble before they seem stable enough to hold him, and the negative thoughts bash their way in and say that he'll regret this.

Some days, he's almost fine. He can eat most of a burger, drink some of a milkshake, pretend that things are okay and that he was never sick or anything other than the perfectly normal, good old Jughead Jones, eating everything in sight. Even though it's different now and he can't be that Jughead again. There are still good days.  
This day just isn't one.

Archie's not having a good day either, and they've both been quiet and irritable, keeping to themselves and walking on eggshells around the other and not talking or touching.  
Fred is at the office looking over blueprints for his new project, so Archie makes them burgers for dinner and when they sit down at the table it's silent and Jughead is looking at his fidgeting hands and around the room and avoiding Archie's eyes and not eating and it feels eerily like the moments before his breakdown at the diner. Except today Archie isn't concerned, he's annoyed, and after a few minutes of watching Jughead focus on picking at the skin around his fingernails instead of even looking at his plate, he bursts out,

"Why can't you just fucking eat?"

And Jughead looks up at him with so much hurt written on his face he regrets it immediately, but it's too late to take it back. He's too frustrated to even want to. He's been trying. He's done the research, spent late nights looking through the internet to look up Jughead's symptoms and how to help him, but he still doesn't really get it. He can't understand why Jughead would do this to himself, why anyone would choose to do this. 

They still haven't talked about it, not really, because Jughead doesn't like to, he won't tell him anything so he just keeps guessing and making Jughead's favorite foods in an attempt to help. Archie is so sick of burgers and fries and the side of sadness that comes with every meal.

Jughead doesn't know how to explain, or where to begin, or if he even wants to when Archie sounds so angry, so he doesn't try. He pushes his chair back and jumps up and takes the steps two at a time and grabs his backpack that he never fully unpacked and runs out the door, slamming it behind him.

And sits on the Andrews' doorstep, because he doesn't have anywhere else to go. Pop's will just remind him of Archie, of this entire situation. He doesn't really want to leave, anyway. He just wants the situation to be different. He wants to walk back through the door and not have this conversation, to not ever have to.

After a minute, Archie throws open the front door, frantic, and Jughead knows he debated on whether to chase after him or not. Even though he just hurt him, he's still glad Archie decided he was worth it. He seems relieved to find that Jughead hasn't gone anywhere, and sits next to him, close but not touching.  
They both stare straight ahead as Archie says "I'm sorry, Jug," 

Jughead just nods, and tries to come up with something to say that could put this whole shitshow into words, but any eloquence he ever had has disappeared, and he can't unravel the knot in his stomach or the ones in his brain twisting up his thoughts and making this all seem impossible. So he shrugs, and settles.

"I'll explain it to you when I can explain it to myself."

It's Archie's turn to nod, and then he moves an inch closer so they're brushing shoulders, and Jughead takes his hand, lacing their fingers and adjusting himself so he can rest his head on Archie's shoulder.

They sit there for a while, thinking about how far they've come and how far they have left to go.


End file.
